


A Hellish Halloween

by thewightknight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, proper and slutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27250900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: Every year, on October 31st, at precisely 10:31am, an envelope appeared on Crowley’s desk, made of parchment of undetermined (and wisely so) origin, reeking of sulfur, and slightly singed around the edges.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70





	A Hellish Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by someone's dream, and they graciously allowed me to run with the idea.

Every year, on October 31st, at precisely 10:31am, an envelope appeared on Crowley’s desk, made of parchment of undetermined (and wisely so) origin, reeking of sulfur, and slightly singed around the edges. 

This year, after the events that had transpired, with that little thing where the world didn't end and the amusing repercussions that followed, Crowley didn’t expect to receive another envelope. So when it appeared in all its hellish glory, he didn’t know what to do.

He was due at Aziraphale’s for brunch that morning and was running late, so instead of dealing with it, he scooped it up and stuck it in his coat pocket.

As soon as he entered Aziraphale’s flat, the angel sniffed, his nose scrunching up in that manner that Crowley had refused to find adorable for millennia.

“Whatever is that smell?” he asked.

“Hello to you too, darling,” Crowley drawled. 

“Yes, hello, but seriously, Crowley. Did you go diving in a volcano this morning?”

“I’m afraid not,” Crowley said. Sighing, he pulled the envelope out. “It’s this.”

“And what is that?” Aziraphale asked, eyes narrowing as he stared at the envelope.

“My invitation to the annual Halloween in Hell ball.”

“The what?” 

“The annual Halloween in Hell ball,” Crowley repeated. 

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I were.” He made no attempt to keep the envelope out of reach when Aziraphale snatched it out of his hand, as he knew it was a wasted effort. When Aziraphale broke the seal, the smell of sulfur intensified, and he sneezed—another thing which appeared on Crowley’s ‘definitely not adorable things his angel did’ list.

 _“We have the dishonor to invite you to the annual Halloween in Hell ball,_ ” Aziraphale read, _“beginning at the stroke of midnight on October the Thirty-first. This year’s theme….”_ He broke off at this. “Really? They have themes?”

“Unfortunately,” Crowley said. “A few years ago it was ‘animals that missed the Ark’. You don’t want to know any details. What’s this year’s?” 

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, scanning the invitation.

“Well? Don’t keep a demon waiting?”

 _“This year’s theme is Proper or Slutty._ Oh, I say, that’s... something.”

“Everyone will go Proper. They’ll think they’re being edgy or something. Shame I’ll have to miss it this year.” Crowley meant to sneer, but it came out sounding more wistful than he’d intended. He’d always enjoyed the balls, about the only part of Hell he ever had.

“Whyever would you do that?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, there was all the you-know, and then the whatsit, and I’m sure they don’t want me down there anymore after how things all went.”

“Why did they send you an invitation, then?”

“To rub it in, I suppose.”

“Well, the joke’s on them. We’re going.”

“We’re what?”

“We’re going. Look. The invite says you get a plus one. So we’re going, and I’m your plus one. And I’m going Slutty.”

In his six millennia on earth, there were only three times where Crowley had found himself at a loss for words. 

There was that time, when he’d received his first of many letters of commendation from Hell for something he’d not done and had no idea about. When he’d dragged himself out of bed after a few decades’ long nap to find out what it was all about, and taken a good look around, what he’d seen had sent him straight back to bed, with the covers pulled up over his head. 

Millennia passed between the first and second instance. He’d had a moment, standing just inside the convent doors with the antichrist’s basket in hand, when his thoughts had stopped. Who knows how long he might have stood there if one nun hadn’t come up?

And that brought him to this, the third and current moment, when his brain stuttered to a stop at the combination of the words _angel_ and _slutty,_ especially when he could hear the capitol S when Aziraphale said the word _._

Oblivious to the short-circuiting of Crowley’s brain, Aziraphale donned his jacket, fiddling with the sleeves until the lay of them satisfied him. “So let’s off to brunch, and then you must excuse me for the rest of the afternoon. I need to find a costume, and I want it to be a surprise.”

Crowley ate food at brunch. What food it was, he couldn’t have said. And then, after dropping Aziraphale at his flat, he tried to find a way to kill the hours until midnight. Making mischief was out of the question, because as distracted as he was, he might make actual mischief instead of instigating his usual mild annoyances.

“Costume. I need a costume,” he muttered. That’d do, as far as distractions went. As long as he concentrated on his own costume and didn’t think about what Aziraphale might come up with, it’d be fine. 

He toyed with and then discarded also going Slutty. Whatever Aziraphale came up with, it was sure to be glorious, and he did not want to detract from the glory of his angel. 

After an embarrassing amount of time posing in front of the mirror he’d had to summon, he finally settled on one of his old Victorian Era suits. He went the full works—top hat, scarf, gloves, and cane. As a nod to his plus one, he allowed a tartan band on the hat, and a matching square in his pocket.

Aziraphale had declined a ride, saying he’d meet Crowley in the lobby.

“Don’t want to spoil the surprise,” he’d said.

So Crowley waited by the escalator, loftily ignoring the stares of his once-fellow demons as they filed by and pretending not to hear the whispers, until they grew to a brief crescendo and then faded to a silence so complete Crowley could hear his own heartbeat. Suspecting what had caused the disturbance, he turned to look. And that is how, for the second time in one evening and the fourth time in his life, Crowley forgot what thought was.

Pink. That was the first word that burst forth from the recesses of his brain. Pink, followed closely by ‘sparkly’, a word he had never in his life used.

Normally so prim and proper, covered head to toe in some variance of white, instead tonight Aziraphale wore practically nothing at all. All his delightful curves stood out on stark display, the pink tones of his skin accentuated by the hot pink sequined sleeveless crop top and miniscule shorts he wore. As he neared, Crowley could see a circle of rhinestones on the front of the top. No, not a circle—a halo, Crowley corrected himself. Not wanting to stare but unable to help himself, he watched as Aziraphale strutted across the floor, the clicking of his matching pink stiletto heels echoing through the deathly silence of the lobby.

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” Aziraphale said, waving, and increased his pace. “Do you like?” he asked when he reached Crowley, pirouetting on his toes. When he was halfway through his turn, Crowley discovered that the back of shorts proclaimed _ANGEL_ in rhinestones to match those on the front of his shirt.

“Er. Very nice,” he croaked out. His pocket square had turned hot pink. He was sure his hat band now matched, and hoped his cheeks didn't too.

“Well, shall we?” Aziraphale asked, holding out one hand. Crowley tucked it into the crook of his arm, while wondering if he could get away with ignoring the Victorian proprieties of the era in which he had dressed and go down the escalator before Aziraphale instead of after. If he had to stare at that glittering _ANGEL_ , while imagining what lay beneath it, for the entirety of his descent, he might go mad.

“Will there be snacks?” Aziraphale asked as they joined the queue for the escalator.

“None you’d want to try. And definitely avoid the punch.”

This was either going to be the best of all previous Halloween balls or the worst. Time would tell, Crowley thought. Time would tell.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want to say hi, [check out my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/profile) for where I’m currently hanging out on this here internet thing. If you liked this, please share! Kudos are love and comments are always appreciated.


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